I’ve had my messy myself
to contend with. I plucked my *****
hair and drank a gallon of beer. I wrote
of discontent and dropped each fragment
to publishers on some list that’s been around
long as ***** hair. I never tweeze my lines
to fit. They’re stranglers that spill out the sides –
like bohemian woman that never touch their
***** hair to sheers. You could donate a beard
with those. You could make corn rows
like Jamaican men. Put strands of beads at the ends.